Looking For Mr. Perfect

November 16, 1986|By MARIA GOODAVAGE, Staff Writer

IT WAS GLITZ AT ITS GLITZIEST, AND it was 1973 glitz so that made it even more grotesque. The amorphous but appealing teenage guru, Maharaji, sat on a throne of blue Plexiglas towering 300 feet above his followers at the Houston Astrodome. A 14-foot white Plexiglas flame rose behind the ``Perfect Master,`` and brilliant rainbows shimmered on the walls.

Maharaji`s portrait, created on the flashing scoreboard lights, was the tackiest touch of all at the gala that had been billed as ``the most significant event in human history.``

Maharaji, only 15 years old, sat smiling peacefully as 20,000 of his worshippers (known as premies, or lovers of truth) chanted. Outside, a large parking space was set aside on the chance that alien visitors might arrive to pay homage.

Maharaji had every reason to smile. What had started out as a small tax- exempt church in Colorado only two years earlier had become a multimillion- dollar operation. Maharaji was as adored in America as he was in his native India; some six million people around the globe considered him the mouthpiece of God.

Yet, within a few short years, the charismatic, peace-promising leader of the Divine Light Mission would disappear from the curious eyes of the non- premie public, taking with him his followers, 54 ashrams and his newsworthy antics. No longer would we read accounts of Maharaji (which, translated, means ``Great King``) riding around in his Rolls-Royce chewing wads of bubble gum. Gone were the headlines about Maharaji hosing down an audience at the Orange Bowl with rose water.

Just like the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh a dozen years later, this guru would make an indelible mark on the American consciousness, then make a quick exit. Unlike the Bhagwan, who fled America hounded by immigration authorities and propelled by scandal, the little Maharaji silently slipped away. To where? That was the mystery.

NO ONE SEEMED to know why Maharaji had faded so quickly. And, aside from the premies, few people cared. There were plenty of gurus to go around at the time, and Maharaji`s novelty had worn thin.

It was rumored in India that his mother, Mata ji, had accused him of being a playboy. At 16, he had married Marolyn Johnson, a 24-year-old airline stewardess. His mother was perturbed by his lavish taste in cars and mansions. As matriarch of the family mission, she replaced him as leader with one of his older brothers, and Maharaji took the matter to court.

Premies soon learned that their leader had been ousted, but most of them remained loyal. Their continuing financial support gave Maharaji an annual salary of almost $4 million. He maintained lavish homes in Miami and Malibu, but shunned publicity, preferring to spread his nirvana through a worldwide underground network.

Rumors (almost the only way to learn anything about this opaque period) led to an IRS investigation of Maharaji`s various offshoot companies, like Divine Travel Services, Divine Electronics, Shri Hans Aviation, and Divine Sales International. But by the mid-`70s, even the rumors had stopped, and it seemed that the Great King had been consigned to the great junkheap of fad cult figures.

A DECADE PASSED, and I began to wonder whatever had happened to Maharaji. I was only a teenager when he reigned, yet I was enamored by his blissful countenance. In my research, I couldn`t find any articles about him after 1976. A UCLA professor who was an expert on cults told me he thought Maharaji had died. A cult deprogrammer claimed that Maharaji was broke.

I began to feel sorry for the Perfect Master. I tried to imagine living the life of a god and then sinking into poverty and obscurity. Poor Maharaji.

But I should have known that gods do not easily waste away. One day I came across a 1985 article in the Los Angeles Times about a guru with a problem endemic to today`s high-flying gurus: He wasn`t able to land his helicopters at his estate as frequently as he wanted to.

This guru was fighting the Los Angeles County Regional Planning Commission to triple the number of helicopter landings at his Malibu mountain ridge estate to 36 a year. This guru was turned down.

This guru was Maharaji.

He was alive! Better yet, he was still prosperous.

Not long afterwards, an acquaintance told me that his girlfriend was a premie. And it turned out that he had an extra ticket to see Maharaji at an appearance in, of all places, the Miami Beach Theater of the Performing Arts. He gave the ticket to me, and also provided the phone number of Loring Baker, the man in charge of Maharaji followers in Miami. Yes, there were still premies in South Florida.

Loring Baker was quiet but friendly when I called him. He remained quiet but noticeably less friendly when I told him I was a reporter who wanted to do a story on what had become of Maharaji.